


And I'm Your Lionheart

by onlythefinest



Series: Whichever Lines Challenge [6]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Vulgar Language, medieval!au, mild violence, whichever lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlythefinest/pseuds/onlythefinest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dick is king and Lewis his most trusted knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm Your Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Whichever Lines Challenge. This is not really medieval--it's more, I took the idea of kings and knights and did what I wanted

∙♠∙♠∙♠∙♠∙  
 _You're my king and I'm your lionheart_  
∙♠∙♠∙♠∙♠∙

“He doesn’t have any relative to speak of, no lineage of any sort.”

“He was just some poor squib who happened to be handy with a sword.”

The two women were bent, heads close together as they pulled up the bucket from the well. “Though he’s attractive enough to be a prince,” one conceded as they watched the procession of the king and his knights through their small town, on their way to the castle. Tall banners proclaimed the party as belonging to the House Winters, the royal family. Regal horses decorated with all the fine cloth and gold chains, knights in the sturdiest armor with the sharpest blades, waiting ladies riding side-saddle behind the princess—the procession the peasants who lived outside the castle walls saw every few days as the king made trips to his other provinces. The village surrounding the castle was well off, the peasants more nourished and protected than the far off villages. But then again, that was why the king made trips, to see to it his people were protected from the Northern Threat and that from the sea. Thus far he’d made garrison towns out of most of the villages in his kingdom, made sure they were well-guarded by knights and soldiers, to keep his people safe.

Of course, he never sent his personal knight to these garrison towns, the knight who had been the peasant women’s topic of conversation.

“I’d like to know his story,” one of the women said as the procession fully passed and she could just barely see the knight’s black hair between the banners. “How the king saw potential in such a poor creature.”

Sir Lewis (or the Wayward Knight, as the peasants knew him) had no family, no relations to speak of, no career aspirations, not even a penny to his name when the then-prince discovered him. He was a thief and a ruffian, a teenager with no regard for authority. And what did the prince do? Make him a squire. Now he was the king’s personal guard.

“You haven’t heard the rumors?” the other woman asked, and her friend shook her head. They bent their heads closer together, though the procession was too far off to hear their gossiping. “I’ve heard from several ladies in the king’s court that the Wayward Knight is the reason there’s no queen at the king’s side.”

In the procession, the princess rode her horse up to her brother’s side. “I like these trips,” Anne said, smiling. Dick looked at her and her smile grew. She leaned toward him in her saddle. “You should let me come on them more often.”

“Anne,” Dick said, “you know how mother hates that I take you.” Edith Winters had not been queen since her husband’s death when Dick was just a teen, but she still had plenty of sway over the actions of her children, especially her youngest, Anne. Lewis leaned forward in his saddle so he could peek around Dick at the princess.

“I think we should say Anne’s beauty encourages villagers to support the crown,” he said, grinning. Anne blushed and laughed.

“Dick,” she said, “control your knight. He’s making me blush.” Dick smiled and looked at Lewis, who was still grinning. He bowed his head slightly to Anne.

“I apologize for making you blush, Princess,” he said, “but I take back not a word of what I said.” Anne laughed again and shook her head.

“You’re impossible,” she said, but it was all in good fun. Lewis was one of her closest friends in the castle, had been ever since Dick had brought him in from the streets when Anne was just a girl. She’d grown attached to the dark-haired man like another brother, just as her parents had become attached to him like a second son. Lewis had been shockingly intelligent for a villager. He’d never said where he learned all that he did, only that he’d learned it and why did it matter where? Anne liked to think he’d eavesdrop on artisans and philosophers and theologians when they came through the village.

“I’m not impossible,” Lewis said, still grinning. “I’m honest.” Anne laughed again and shook her head as they came upon the gates to the castle. Two guards opened the heavy doors and the procession entered, the doors closing once the last attendant was through.

Inside, the waiting ladies helped Anne from her saddle, and Lewis dismounted to help Dick down himself. Stable boys came to take away and tend their horses, and the king and his company made their way toward the interior of the castle. A courier met them before they could get to the door.

“My lord,” he said, bowing quickly. He straightened and extended a parchment to Dick. “This came while you were away—a message from the northernmost village.” Dick nodded and took the parchment, dismissed the courier as he unrolled the scroll. He read through the message once, closed his eyes and let a slow breath from his nose.

“What is it?” Anne asked, tried to peer over her brother’s shoulder. Lewis took the paper before she could see it, scanned the page quickly.

“Those wily bastards,” he muttered, and Anne repeated, “What _is_ it?” Lewis looked up at her as he handed the parchment back to Dick.

“The North King saw fit to attack us,” Lewis said as Dick read over the message again. Anne gasped and put a hand to her mouth, looked up at her brother.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, and rolled the parchment, gripped it tight in one fist.

“We’re going to show the North what happens when you attack one of our villages,” he said. He turned to Lewis. “Meet me in the dining hall with the other knights. We have much to discuss.” Lewis nodded, bowed slightly before heading off to collect his fellow knights. Anne put her hand on her brother’s arm.

“Why are they attacking now?” she asked, and he shook his head. “We’ve been at odds for years and they’ve done nothing but sit on their rumps and harass their own citizens. Why choose now to invade?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “But they’re going to regret stepping on our soil.”  
  


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The knights were in the dining hall when Dick arrived, most dressed in their day clothes, deer-skin breeches and loose tunics. Lewis had changed from his armor into trousers and a tunic himself, was standing at the head of the long table. The dining hall seemed emptier without the bustle of mealtime, when attendants and servants would scurry about refilling goblets and plates, and the uproar of the family around the table would fill the high ceilings. The knights had collected the maps of the region and laid them across the table, and Dick came to Lewis’ side, set his hands on the table and leaned over the maps. Lewis had already placed a pewter marker on the village where the attack had taken place.

“This is a new fuckin’ low for those bastards,” Liebgott said, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at the maps. “Attackin’ our convoys an’ shit is one thing—but a fuckin’ villiage? Jesus Christ.”

“You are eloquent as always, Liebgott,” Brad said across the table. Liebgott rolled his eyes.

“Hey, we’re all thinkin’ it,” he said. “I jus’ _said_ it.”

“We don’t need to discuss the audacity of their attack,” Dick said, gaining his knights’ attention, “but where they may attack next. _If_ they attack next. We need to send troops to the town to assess the damage and provide relief to the villagers.

“There are seven more towns nearby,” he continued, took small pewter markers from the side of the table and set them where the towns were. “The Northerners could attack any of them.”

“So we’ll ride up there an’ set up camp,” Liebgott said. “We ain’t got garrison towns that far north yet, so we oughta send some knights an’ take some soldiers.” Dick nodded as the rest of the knights murmured their agreement. Lewis was quiet at Dick’s side.

“We can each take a troop to the different towns,” Nate suggested. There were eight knights in all, counting Lewis. Dick nodded, staring at his map, trying to think like a Northerner, trying to decide which town was most likely the next to be attacked. The thing was, they didn’t even know if the North would attack another town, why they attacked the first town, whether they were vying for another battle or had retreated back across their borders. It was impossible to know what they were thinking.

“We should leave a guard at the castle,” Lewis said, looking at Dick. “They may try to come through the marshes.” He traced a line with his fingertip through the marshlands that curled around like smoke to the west of the castle. Liebgott snorted.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “You couldn’t get one guy through those marshes, let alone a whole fuckin’ army.”

“Which is why we wouldn’t be expecting an attack from there,” Lewis said, looking up at Liebgott. “It’s not impossible to get through the marshes. Men with enough courage and determination could do it in less than a fortnight.” Liebgott looked down at the marshes outlined on the map, skeptical.

“Perhaps you should stay.” Sir Dike looked at his king and Lewis. “We can handle the towns, my lord. You can stay and coordinate the defense of the castle, should it come to that.” Dick nodded slowly.

“We will stay,” he said, looking at Lewis, who nodded. “The rest of you, assemble a group of thirty soldiers to accompany you to the towns.” The knights nodded. “If you meet the enemy, send word to the castle and we will expedite reinforcements to you.” The knights nodded again, and the king assigned them each to a town. He would send Liebgott and his troupe farthest north. For all his impulsivities, Liebgott was the king’s best knight after Lewis. He would do well with the villagers who had already been attacked and would be able to repulse a second attack, should the town turn into an ambush.

The other knights were assigned to their towns and Dick sent them off to collect their soldiers. They filed from the room, left Dick and Lewis alone in the dining hall. When the door rumbled closed, Dick let out a quiet sigh.

“Why now, of all times?” he asked, rubbing his brow. Lewis smiled a little and leaned his hip against the table, folded his arms across his chest.

“They’re just trying to keep you on your toes,” he said. Dick silently chuckled at that, closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked at Lewis.

“You think they’ll try to come through the marshes?” he asked. Lewis looked back down at the map, traced the line of the marshes with his gaze.

“That’s the route I would take,” he said. “It’s dangerous, but there’s a clear shot to the castle if you get through. Going this way—“ He traced the route through the numerous villages populating the land east of the castle. “—is a lot tougher. I would gamble they’re banking on us sending people out to these villages.” He motioned to the seven pewter markers on the map. “So we have less at the castle.” Dick studied the map and nodded.

“So,” Lewis continued, “if we send small bands of soldiers to the town and keep plenty in reserve here, we should be able to fend off an attack, should it come from the marshes. We should send scouts out to the edge of the marshlands in a few nights to see if they spot any fires.” Dick nodded again. Lewis was well-read in strategy, would read papers on the subject and used to attend seminars held by wizened military generals before he became Dick’s personal knight. He was an expert swordsman and battlefield tactician, could improvise when defenses failed, had the charisma to lead soldiers on the offense when they were scared and ready to retreat. Dick had seem him rally soldiers into such an emboldened fervor that they would forget their fears entirely and charge into the surprised enemy troops, spears and swords raised high, arrows firing overhead, and the enemy would retreat in a scramble, trying to figure out how their nearly-beaten foe had risen back up so dramatically. Lewis straightened from where he’d been leaning on the table.

“I’ll tell the knights to send word when they’ve reached the towns,” he said. They had a reliable bird-messaging system. The hawks were kept up by Sledge, who knew each bird by name, had trained them himself from when they were just hatchlings. They could get a message from any of the towns to the castle in a day’s time or less. It was far more efficient than sending a rider on horseback. “Each party should scout the terrain before they settle in,” Lewis continued. Dick followed him as he walked around the table. “They can explain the situation to the villagers and arm them, should the soldiers be overrun. The villagers should be prepared to fight if the need arises.”

“Hopefully the need will not arise,” Dick said.  
  


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The first hawk returned with a letter from Liebgott in three day’s time. He wrote that his men had scouted the woods surrounding the ruined village, as per Lewis’ suggestion, and that the remaining villagers were all staying in a small home that hadn’t been destroyed in the attack. Half of their dead were still laid out, and Liebgott was having his men dig graves for the unburied. He wrote that some of the villagers had been refugees from the Northern Kingdom, which was perhaps why the village was targeted. They spoke of their former lord, who was as ruthless as he was cruel, who cared not about his villagers, only that they paid nearly their whole wages in taxes so he could live out his extravagant lifestyle in his castle. His army was comprised of mercenaries and prisoners, foreigners who were more merciless in combat than even the most hardened Southern soldier, but who were only loyal to the money from the Northern king, not to the king himself. He didn’t command that sort of respect. Liebgott wrote that the North soldiers just thought they were brutal—they hadn’t met _him_ yet. He said they would make sure the remaining villagers were safe. He was thinking about relocating them to one of the southern villages, since there were only “a handful left” and their entire village had been destroyed, the houses and crops burned, livestock slaughtered and left to rot in the fields. Those who had escaped to the woods watched from the shadows of the trees as the Northerners salted their earth and spit on the corpses of the fallen. Liebgott finished his letter with, “If those sonuvabitches come back, they’re gonna pay.”

Dick set the letter on the desk in his bedchambers. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his brow, closed his eyes and breathed. He didn’t know what had provoked the Northerners into such atrocities, couldn’t imagine it was the result of a few escapees. They had to have a better reason. There _must_ be a better reason.

“You look like you’re over-thinking something.”

Dick hadn’t heard Lewis come in, looked up to see the knight holding a tray with a kettle and two cups. Lewis smiled and Dick moved the letter so he could set the tray on the desk. Dick handed the letter to Lewis. “This came from Liebgott today,” he said as Lewis took the paper. He read over Liebgott’s awful script in silence, pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow. When he finished the letter his expression had softened, was less anger and more saddened exhaustion, dark eyes pained.

“They won’t get the chance to do that to another village,” he said, turned to pour tea into the two cups. Dick took the letter back and set it face-down on the desk. He was quiet while Lewis filled the cups.

“We should be receiving word from the other knights today,” he said. It was still morning, after all. The rest of the day could bring happier news yet. “Later I’ll send scouts to the marshlands.” Lewis nodded, sat on the edge of Dick’s desk and handed him a cup.

“We should send Edith and Anne to the coast,” Lewis said after a moment. There was a smaller castle there that the royal family visited often, was home to the archbishop, who was a close friend of the family.  He had a sizable army of what amounted to mercenaries, but they were loyal to him and the crown. “They’ll be safer there if the Northerners attack the castle.”

“They’ll never agree to go,” Dick said, looking up at Lewis. “They’re more stubborn than you are.” Lewis smiled at that.

“It was worth suggesting,” he said. He knew Edith and Anne would never concede to leaving the castle unless it was about to collapse around them, and even then Lewis wasn’t sure they would go. Dick smiled and took a drink of his tea as he stood.

“We should address the villagers,” he said. They knew nothing about why the knights had marched off with soldiers in tow, only that there was something happening. They all had their own wild rumors that Dick wanted to clear up before they got too out of hand. Lewis put his hand on Dick’s arm before he could move too far.

“Half of them are probably in the middle of harvesting their gardens,” he said. There had been a chill coming for days now and crops needed to be picked before they frosted over. “They can wait awhile.” Dick frowned slightly but knew Lewis was right. He could wait until the villagers had returned from their gardens and fields.

“We’ll choose who should be on the scouting party, then,” Dick said, and he moved toward the door. Lewis held his arm fast.

“I’ve taken care of that,” he said. “I’m sending Ray and Walt and Trombley. They’ve got the keenest eyes and Trombley can hear horse-hooves ten miles off.” Dick frowned a little and Lewis kept his hand on the king’s arm. “Dick,” he said. “You need to relax. A king is no good to his people if he’s too anxious to think straight.” Dick blinked. He smiled a little.

“You’re right,” he said finally, met Lewis’ gaze with a crooked smile. “I hate it when you’re right.” Lewis matched Dick’s smile and laughed.

“I know you do,” he said.  
  


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The marshlands were more flooded than usual and the scouts could only get a quarter of a mile in before the water became too deep for their horses. There were miles of marshland to try and cover, and the three scouts were gone for most of the day, mucking through mud and soft grass and searching for any sign of horses or men. Dick addressed the villagers with Lewis at his side, explained the situation and told the villagers of their plan. Should the Northerners attack the castle, the villagers were to stick together, leave their belongings behind and take refuge in the woods to the south of the castle until the battle was over. The other letters had come in as well, detailing the situations in the villages and knight’s plans.

Save one. Sir Dike had yet to send his letter and Dick was weary, had Leckie, his scribe, pen a letter asking for an update. They send the hawk out that evening to the village Dike had been sent to. Dick was hoping for a prompt reply.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Lewis told him as they stood on the top of the wall surrounding the castle. The temperature had dropped and Dick was wearing a thick cloak, Lewis a wool tunic and trousers tucked into his boots. They were looking west, toward the marshlands, though they couldn’t see much in the dark. It was well past sunset now. “Dike’s about as prompt as a tortoise,” Lewis said, looking at Dick, who just shook his head.

“I suppose I was hoping he would be more prompt with such a serious matter,” he said.

“A vain hope,” Lewis said. “I’m not sure Dike would be prompt replying to a message from God himself.” Dick laughed outright at that one, because it seemed so likely. He would need to have a talk with Dike when the knights returned, after this problem had been resolved.

“I’ll discuss the issue with him when he returns,” Dick said. Lewis nodded, opened his mouth to say something and stopped, set his hands on the wall in front of him and leaned forward to peer into the marshlands. There was a tiny flame burning about three feet from the ground.

“Dick,” he said, and Dick came to his side. Lewis pointed at the flame. “Do you see that?” Dick nodded. The scouts had gotten back hours ago with nothing to report, had seen nothing in the marshlands. Walt had confessed they couldn’t go far, had suggested taking small skiffs out in the morning and Dick had agreed, though he was beginning to fear they wouldn’t need to  do that.

A second flame joined the first, and then there were five, and then a dozen, and soon a whole line of small flames had ignited. “Dick,” Lewis said slowly as he watched the flames rise to nearly six feet in the air. “Have I ever mentioned I hate being right all the time?” The sound of dozens of arrows being loosed filled the still air and Lewis pushed Dick to the ground behind the wall as the flaming arrows soared overhead. Some bounced harmlessly off the stone walls and landed in the dirt; others stuck firmly into haystacks or wooden carts and ignited.

“Sound the alarm,” Dick said as the two scrambled to their feet. Lewis nodded and jumped off of the wall onto the roof of the blacksmith’s shed, started shouting as soon as he hit the ground. Dick ran to the ladder and shouted at the guards on the adjacent wall to rally troops. They ran off and Dick slid down the ladder, sprinted toward his mother’s and sister’s bedchambers to rouse them.

When he resurfaced with Edith and Anne in tow, the alarm bell was ringing and attendants were shouting, trying to put out the fires that had ignited in the castle. “This way,” Dick said, ushered his mother and sister toward the stables. He got them onto their horses, turned and shouted for soldiers. An attendant heard him and ran off to find soldiers to accompany the former queen and the princess. Dick turned to his family.

“The soldiers will take you with the villagers to the woods,” he said. “If the castle is overrun, you will ride to the coast.” Four soldiers came running up to them and the attendant sprinted back to the fires. Anne reached down and grabbed Dick’s collar.

“I expect you to meet us at the coast if it comes to that,” she said. Dick nodded and she released him and the soldiers led them out of the front gate.

Dick sprinted to the armory and threw on a mail shirt, noticed Lewis’ effects were gone from the walls but that his armor was still mounted on the mannequin. Dick cinched his belt around his waist and ran back out to the courtyard. The fires had been mostly extinguished and an attendant ran up to Dick’s side.

“My lord,” he said, breathless and covered in soot from the fires. “Sir Lewis has taken soldiers to meet the foe head-on. More have been sent to attend to the villagers and get them to safety if the Northerners make it past the castle walls.” Dick nodded.

“Fetch my horse,” he said, and the attendant sprinted off. Dick hurried through the courtyard, attendants nodding to him as they helped each other and stomped out any remaining embers. The attendant returned with his horse and Dick climbed into the saddle and spurred his horse, galloped through the gate.

Villagers were scrambling, being herded by soldiers toward the veritable safety of the woods. He pulled his reigns and rode around the south wall of the castle, heard the sounds of swords clashing and shouts before he could see the shadows moving together at the end of the marshlands.

“My lord.” A soldier came running up, brow bloodied. He was breathless and panting, held his sword loosely at his side. “They have us outnumbered, my lord.” Dick stared over his head at the shadows. His men had been outnumbered before, yet they always pulled through. He hoped the same would be true of this case.

“Find Sledge,” he said, looking down at the soldier. “Tell him to send word to the knights to return immediately.” The soldier nodded and Dick turned his head back to the fight when there was a sudden burst of light and heat. The grass on one side of the battle had been set alight by an errant arrow and Dick could make out faces in the fray. He saw Lewis for a brief moment between sword blows. He turned back to the soldier at his side.

“Go,” he said, and the soldier nodded and sprinted back toward the castle. Dick unsheathed his sword and spurred his horse toward the fight.

He rode through several of the Northerners, knocked them to the ground as his horse stomped on their arms and stomachs. Others moved out of the way before the horse could hit them and Dick swung his sword down, sliced open chests and necks and faces as he galloped through. Emboldened by their king, his soldiers found renewed vigor to their fight and let out a rallying cry, surged forward into the enemy line.

Dick jerked on the reins and spurred his horse in a wide arch around the battle. The flames were still burning on the far side of the fight and he searched for Lewis in the firelight. He found his knight strafing two Northern soldiers, cutting them down from behind before they could turn and raise their blades. Lewis moved like a dancer on the battlefield, someone well-versed in all his marks and cues. He moved from one foe to the next, slashing necks and opening guts, tearing through the Northerner’s light leather armor like it was bare flesh. Dick stared from astride his horse, his attention only snapped away when he heard a loud shout over the din of battle.

“Fear not these men!” it shouted, and Dick searched the faces on the field for the source. He found it and felt his shoulders slack, his grip loosen around his sword. He was staring at an older version of Lewis. The hair was grey at the temples, the face older, with more crevasses, the posture more serious, but the man sitting on a black horse was Lewis in thirty years.

“The North will prevail!” the man yelled, and Dick searched the fight again for Lewis, found him shouldering a man out of his way. He was going for the man on the horse, the man Dick knew must be Lewis’ father. The resemblance was too uncanny, too complete for him to be anything else. Dick spurred his horse and headed back toward the fight at a dead gallop.

He was stopped suddenly when an arrow glanced off the side of his arm and knocked him from his horse. He hit the ground and rolled, came to a neat stop near a group of his own men. One of the men helped Dick to his feet with a quiet, “My lord” and a nod, and Dick winced and grabbed at his arm. The arrow had barely grazed him, had cut through the mail shirt and left a small, bleeding gash in its wake. He dropped his arm back to his side, picked up his sword where it had fallen next to him.

“Do not let them near the castle,” he told his men. They nodded and quickly returned to the battle.

Dick cut his way through the Northern soldiers, cracked teeth with the hilt of his sword, ran men through and sliced neat canyons through necks and chests and cheeks. Blood spilled over the grass and Dick felt the heat of it on his face, the heat of the flames that still licked the night air to his right. His men parted for him as he moved toward the black horse. It held no rider and he couldn’t see the man through the swarm of bodies. It was mostly Dick’s men who remained. They were far better armored and better equipped, had ruined the North’s element of surprise when Lewis had warned against their enemies coming through the marshes. Dick hurried through his ranks, men gathering on either side of him and meeting their enemy as the Northerners tried to retreat into the marshlands. Dick could hear Lewis’ father shouting at his men to stand fast, but he was cut off suddenly and Dick couldn’t hear his voice.

“Remember,” Dick called to the men near him. “If any surrender, take them prisoner. We will not stoop to the level of these barbarians.” His men quietly voiced their accord and broke through another line of retreating Northerners. The voice of their king rang out again.

“Enough!” he shouted. “Where is the Southern king?!” Dick’s men stopped advancing and parted, made way for him to come forward and he felt an icy hand grip his heart.

The North King had his son by the hair, knuckles white as he gripped Lewis’ dark locks. In his other hand the man held a long dagger, had the tip pressed against Lewis’ unarmored side. Behind him his men were spread thin, most favoring legs or arms, listing badly to one side or the other, using their swords and spears for support.

“Lay down your swords,” the king said. Dick didn’t move and the king frowned, jerked Lewis’ head back by the hair and he grimaced.

“We will do no such thing,” Dick said, tightened his grip on his sword.

“If you think I am not so cruel as to kill my own flesh and blood,” the king said. He pressed the dagger into Lewis’ side slightly and Lewis inhaled sharply. “Then you are naïve, and gravely mistaken.” Dick’s men looked at each other on either side of their king. No one lowered their weapons and the North king’s frown deepened into a sneer.

“You would be so noble as to sacrifice your bedmate for your kingdom?” he asked, and Dick felt some of his vigor leave him. The North king saw this and his sneer turned into a smirk. “Dike,” he said, glanced around at the fallen bodies. “I think the poor idiot’s gone and gotten himself killed, but he was useful while it lasted. He was quite the source of information while he was in your court.”

“You sonuvabitch,” Lewis said and his father pulled his hair, put his lips near his son’s ear.

“I should have had you killed before you could grow a conscience,” he hissed.

“Let me go and I assure you, my conscience will do nothing to impede my sword from going through your skull,” Lewis said. His father laughed and leaned back, looked at Dick.

“You will not drop your swords?” he asked conversationally, as though he were inquiring about the state of a harvest.

“Don’t,” Lewis said, grimaced when his father jerked his hair and told him to shut up. “Dick—he’ll kill me if you drop them and kill me if you don’t.” Dick still hadn’t said a word. His men stared at him for orders.

“Your swords on the ground, if you would,” the North king said, nodded at the grass. “You have my word I will release him.”

“Dick,” Lewis said. “His word isn’t worth a hog’s spit.”

“And your life is worth less than a wild dog’s,” the North King spat. He said louder, “Your swords, gentlemen! I will give you to the count of three. One—“ Lewis could see Dick’s grip slackening on the hilt of his sword. “—two—“ The Southern men glanced at their king.

Before his father could reach the count of three, Lewis turned opposite the dagger in his side, grit his teeth through the pain on his crown and brought up his leg, kicked his father in the knee and the man loosened his grip on his son’s hair enough that Lewis could pull free. The South king quickly recovered and surged forward with a snarl, and Lewis barely managed to loose the small dagger from his boot and met his father halfway.

It happened in a matter of seconds, long enough for Dick to get a better grip on his sword and take two steps forward before father and son met with their blades. Dick halted short, held his breath. He exhaled it all when Lewis took a step back and his father crumpled to his knees, the small dagger from Lewis’ boot stuck up through his chin like a skewer, the blade embedded deep into his skull. All at once the Northerners dropped their weapons, some turning to flee, others simply raising their hands peaceably in the air. Dick smiled and sheathed his sword, told his men to collect the prisoners and march them to the dungeon.

He moved forward to Lewis, whose back was still to him. “Lewis,” he said, set his arm on Lewis’ shoulder and the knight stumbled backward and Dick saw the dagger hilt jutting out from the side of his tunic, a red sea of blood slowly spreading across the cream shirt.

“Hasser!” Dick shouted as Lewis fell heavy against him and he gently sank to his knees. Walt came sprinting up but before he was halfway to them Dick called, “Find the Doctor. Now!” Walt nodded and sprinted back toward the village, where the doctor was sure to be tending to any casualties from the fires.

“Lewis,” Dick said. He had Lewis’ head resting on his knees, stared at the hilt of the dagger like if he concentrated long enough it would just disappear.

“I should have told you.” Dick snapped his gaze to Lewis’ face, was met with the knight’s dark gaze. “I should have told you,” Lewis repeated, and Dick set one gentle hand on Lewis’ forehead.

“You owe me no explanation,” he said, and Lewis smiled slightly.

“I do,” he said. “My father was a monster, and he expected me to take after him and rule the North in the same manner he had.” He stopped to breathe for a moment. “I tried to kill him when I was a boy,” he continued, “and his attendants caught me and beat me. I did what seemed like the next best thing at the time: I hid under a merchant’s wagon and came south. If I couldn’t kill him, I could at least deny him an heir to raise.” Dick ran his hand through Lewis’ hair.

“Most would have stayed and tolerated their fate,” he said quietly. “You were brave enough to change yours.” Lewis laughed a little, gasped and winced and put his hand at the edge of the hilt in his side.

“You make me sound like the stuff of legends,” he said, and Dick looked back toward the castle. Walt and the Doctor were not in sight.

“I’m sure they’ll tell stories about you,” he said, turning back to Lewis. He gingerly cupped his hands on either side of the knight’s face. “I know Anne will when she finds out, and the whole kingdom will know when that happens.” Lewis smiled, knew better than to laugh again. He closed his eyes and hummed. Dick looked for Walt and Roe again, let out a sigh of relief when he saw them running across the grass.

“Lewis,” he said, turned back to the knight to find his eyes closed. “Lewis.” Dick ran his hand across the knight’s forehead into his hair. Lewis didn’t move.

“ _Lewis_.”

Lewis opened his eyes, blinked and tried to focus on the dark drapery hanging overhead from the bedposts. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed, opened them and looked around the familiar bedchambers. One of Anne’s waiting ladies was standing at the washstand, her back turned to the bed. Lewis shifted, croaked, “Where’s the king?” and the poor waiting lady threw the cloth she was holding as she whipped around. She put a hand to her chest and stared at the knight for a moment, composing herself.

“I’ll fetch him for you,” she said. “He’ll be most overjoyed to see you awake.” Lewis nodded, stopped the woman before she could leave and asked her to help him sit up some. She obliged, stacked the downy pillows behind his back and curtsied, disappeared from the bedchambers in a rush. Lewis tentatively touched his side, held open the collar of his tunic to see the bandages wrapped around his middle.

Running footfalls echoed off the stones in the hall and Dick appeared in the doorway, breathless. Lewis smiled at him. “Lewis,” Dick said, and he started across the floor.

“How’s the villa—“

Dick interrupted Lewis with a kiss, his hands at the knight’s neck as he sat on the edge of the bed. It felt like a reunion kiss, long and slow, between two lovers who hadn’t seen each other in months. Dick kept his hands as Lewis’ neck when he pulled back, ran his thumbs along Lewis’ jaw and kept their faces close.

“The village is fine,” Dick said quietly. He met Lewis’ dark eyes with his own. “The villagers are already talking about how you saved the kingdom.” He smiled and Lewis matched the gesture with a lopsided smile of his own, kissed Dick again.

“That Wayward Knight is a brave soul, he is.” Two women had their heads bent over the well as they pulled up the bucket for water down in the village. “Defeated the North King—his own father—to save the South Kingdom.”

“That makes him a prince, it does,” the other woman said. “I right suspect there’ll be wedding bells soon.” Her partner nodded and pulled on the rope.

“That man’s the bravest knight I ever heard of,” she said. “Always knew there was something special about him. He was just a wily boy who was good with a sword when the king found him. Must’ve known he’d grow into such a fine and courageous knight.” The other woman nodded in agreement.

“Bravest knight we ever had,” she said, echoed her friend’s thoughts. “He certainly deserves the title.” 


End file.
